


Untitled Rainbow Ficlets

by vaguesalvation



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Ficlet Collection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-25
Updated: 2012-01-25
Packaged: 2017-10-30 02:43:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/326884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaguesalvation/pseuds/vaguesalvation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Harvey and Mike are adorable and domesticated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled Rainbow Ficlets

**Author's Note:**

> A ficlet collection that correlate to each color of the rainbow (including indigo).

**Red – the lines Mike’s fingernails leave on Harvey’s skin (and vice-versa).**

He’s exhausted.

It’s ten after five in the morning and the only light on in the whole condo is the one on Harvey’s bedside table. On any normal night, it would have been turned off hours ago, but Mike still has 130 pages of bylaws to look through for the Gutierrez case and he knows this is the only time he’ll have this weekend to work. He’d meant to start earlier, had actually planned on packing everything up and hauling it to his own apartment for the night, but he’d been distracted—understandably, in his opinion.

There is a small shift of the body lying next to him in the bed, followed by a contented sigh. It makes Mike smile, but he doesn’t look away from the files spread out across his lap. He knows if he does, he won’t be going back to them at all until Monday.

“Mike,” Harvey says, his voice somehow both soft and rough with sleep. The sound breaks through his concentration easily, but he’s determined not to give in to temptation. He can be strong too, sometimes.

“Mike, c’mon. What’re you doing?” If it wasn’t so early, Harvey might have sounded concerned. Mostly, he just sounds annoyed.

“Working,” Mike replies, lifting his highlighter to trace it over a potential mistake halfway down the page he’s reading. The neon ink hurts his eyes and he scrubs at them with the heel of his palm.

When he lets his hand fall back to the bed between them, Harvey curls long fingers around his wrist. And that’s when Mike knows he’s gone. Words, he might be able to ignore. But touch?

He sighs heavily and tears his eyes away from the bylaws to look down at Harvey. Harvey is tracing slow circles on the inside of his wrist now, but his eyes are locked on Mike’s face. He looks ridiculous, hair sticking up in all directions, eyes a little unfocused without his contacts. There’s a wrinkle that runs down the center of his forehead that Mike aches to smooth out.

And all along Harvey’s bare shoulders are raised, red lines that fit the shape of Mike’s fingernails. He doesn’t remember leaving the marks, but he’s certain he’d done it in some vain attempt at holding himself together while Harvey’s hands were leaving their own imprints on Mike’s hips earlier. Harvey’s back is a canvas, painted the harsh red of swollen flesh. It amazes Mike how sensitive Harvey’s skin is.

He wonders if his own skin looks like that.

“Mike,” Harvey says, this time a little louder, a little surer. Mike’s eyes flick back up to Harvey’s. “Turn off the light, and go to sleep.”

It isn’t a request. Mike’s lips curl up a little at the corners. “You know, it doesn’t work like that outside the office. You’re not my boss here.”

Mike doesn’t even know Harvey has moved until the hand that had previously been holding his wrist is wrapped around the back of his neck and Harvey’s teeth are sinking into his lower lip. He gasps, from pain or surprise he isn’t sure, but his whole body goes taut and his head swims a little. Harvey’s chest is hot where it’s pressed along Mike’s side.

“Turn off the light, Michael.” Harvey whispers against his lips, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Not that Mike could even think about arguing now. He reaches blindly behind him for the light switch, twisting it to the left until they are plunged into complete darkness. He doesn’t have any time to protest before Harvey pushes the bylaws from his lap onto the floor, disregarding them like he couldn’t be bothered to care about all the work Mike has done. He probably couldn’t, the asshole, but Mike can hardly do anything about that now, not without consciously pulling away from Harvey and Mike thinks he probably doesn’t even remember how to do that anymore.

He lets himself be guided down, spread out along his side of the bed and held in place by Harvey’s hands and Harvey’s knee between his thighs. He moans into Harvey’s mouth and tangles his hands into Harvey’s unruly bed hair. He arches up into the pain of Harvey’s blunt nails digging into his sides.

He is so not getting any work done this weekend.

\--

**Orange – the Koolaid stains on Mike’s kitchen counter (that coincidentally match the ones on Harvey’s favorite t-shirt).**

“Seriously, you need a new bed,” Harvey says as he makes his way into Mike’s kitchen the morning after Pearson-Hardman’s annual rookie dinner. It had been thrown by one of Louis’s new protégés this year and had consisted mainly of cheap champagne and bad sushi. Louis had been furious. Mike had admitted to feeling rather vindicated. Harvey had been, well, pretty drunk honestly, but proud nonetheless, and had left getting them both home completely up to Mike. He’d somehow forgotten that Mike didn’t actually know the address to his new apartment, which is how he assumed they’d wound up in this dump.

Mike looks up from the stove where he’s tossing green bell peppers into an omelet and frowns at him. “My bed is fine.”

“Sure, yeah,” Harvey concedes, “if fine is a cause of herniated discs and chronic muscle pain.”

He moves in behind Mike, wrapping his arms around Mike’s waist and laying his chin over Mike’s shoulder to watch the eggs start to solidify in the pan. Even hung-over like he is, it smells goddamn wonderful. He presses his lips against the side of Mike’s neck and says, “Where’d you learn to cook, anyway?”

“I had to once my grandma stopped being able to stand for too long,” Mike replies, and his voice is soft and faraway like it always is when he talks about Marilyn. “She had a lot of recipe books lying around our house.”

Mike leans back against him, and the weight of him feels heavier than usual. Harvey wonders if Mike had gotten any real sleep last night. He vaguely remembers letting Mike push him down on the old, worn down mattress and take his shoes and suit pants off. He doesn’t really know who removed his jacket and shirt, but he’s pretty sure that had also happened within Mike’s apartment so he isn’t too worried about it. He also doesn’t know if Mike ever came to bed, or if he’d had any room to sleep on it if he had.

Which brings him back to the reason he’d come into the kitchen in the first place, instead of just staying in bed until Mike finished making breakfast.

“I really was serious, you know,” he says, “if it’s a money issue, I wouldn’t mind covering the charge. Even if you just got a better mattress.”

Mike sighs, “I don’t need you to buy me a new bed, Harvey.”

Harvey doesn’t know what to say to that. Mike might not need his money. Hell, Mike probably doesn’t even want it, but that doesn’t make Harvey any less inclined to offer. It isn’t even about making his own life easier now, not like it was when they first started sleeping together and Harvey criticized everything in Mike’s apartment. Then it had been about his own comfort. Now, he couldn’t help looking around this place and wanting to fix things. There were too many reminders of Mike’s life before he’d blown into Harvey’s with the force of a freight train. Harvey wants to erase those reminders, fill the spaces they leave behind with reminders of him.

His eyes roam over the kitchen surrounding them, and they linger for a while on the splotches on the counter next to the sink—stains made the last time he’d spent the night. There were stains on his old Yankee’s tee too, from Mike using it to mop up the orange Koolaid when he couldn’t find his paper towels. Mike had apologized profusely for hours after, almost in tears, and Harvey hadn’t had the heart to be angry. He hasn’t told Mike, but he still hasn’t made an effort to get the stains out of his shirt. He kind of likes them, actually. The same way he kind of likes that Mike had to buy a new toothbrush because he kept leaving his at Harvey’s condo, and that two or three of Harvey’s sweatshirts have gone missing and he could have them back if only he would take them out of Mike’s laundry basket. It’s the little things that Harvey knows shouldn’t affect him that make him want to give Mike a better life.

He’ll run by the Serta shop later in the week, test some mattresses out and negotiate prices.

He decides he has plenty of time to make some new stains around here.

\--

**Yellow – the matching coffee mugs Louis jokingly gets them for their anniversary (or maybe not jokingly).**

Rachel presents them with a month’s worth of Keurig inserts the minute they get to the office in the morning. Mike is still trying to smooth out the wrinkles of his jacket—he can’t really do anything about the way his lips must look, kiss-swollen and over shiny—and his eyes get really wide when he sees the boxes Rachel is thrusting onto Harvey’s office table. A quick peek at the labels informs Mike of the contents. The simple Highlander Grog is obviously for him. He smirks as he sees what she’s picked out for Harvey. A caramel vanilla cream flavor to satisfy his poorly concealed sweet tooth.

“I knew you were my favorite,” he says to her, leaning over to press a quick kiss to her cheek.

“I’ll remember you said that the next time I need a favor,” she replies before walking out of the office.

“What’s all this,” Harvey asks when he’s finally taken notice of the boxes an hour later. He and Mike are going over information on a potential new client and he gestures over to the table from behind his desk. Mike has to look over his shoulder to know what he’s talking about.

“Oh, an anniversary gift from Rachel.”

“Rachel?”

Mike sighs, exasperated. “Yeah, Rachel. Zane? The paralegal that’s always helping me? She’s, like, my best friend, Harvey.”

Harvey doesn’t look any less confused but he nods and says, “Oh, yeah. That one.”

Jessica shows up an hour later with tickets to a Yankee’s game and a signed copy of American Gods for Mike, since she knows he’s a Sox fan. Donna holds out for a record-breaking three and a half hours before strutting into Harvey’s office and handing them both wrapped boxes she advises they wait until making it home that night to open. Mike loves Donna, but he’s honestly kind of afraid.

They’ve almost finished up for the night when Louis makes his appearance. He smiles at them both cheekily while they unwrap their matching, yellow his and her coffee mugs.

He leaves it up to them to decide whose is whose.

\--

**Green – St. Patrick’s Day (or the day Mike potentially screws up his only chance at ever getting a raise, and most definitely his chance at a decent love-life).**

The only guy Mike has ever seriously kissed is Trevor. That’s not to say he goes around jokingly kissing every guy he meets, but he’s been known to get a little handsy when he’s drunk and if the person nearest to him happens to be of the male gender, well, he isn’t going to turn a dude down. But Trevor had been sort of an on-going thing, the kind of on-going thing that happens when you get high a few too many times with the same person. It was kind of inevitable. Mike is pretty comfortable in his sexuality sober, and when he’s under the influence of anything that confidence only grows. Trevor fought it at first, said it would never happen again. But more often than not, Mike was the one face down on Trevor’s dorm bed, and Trevor didn’t seem to have any problem when he was holding Mike down and fucking into him.

But Trevor is gone now, because Harvey sent him away to Montana to sober up. And when Mike gets drunk the night after that, he can’t help but feel a little resentful, a little cheated out of this deal. Sure, Trevor hadn’t always been the best friend, he’d actually kind of sucked at that bit for the last few months, but he was still the best fuck Mike had ever had.

He’s in some high-class pub on the Upper East Side. And doesn’t that just sound like the biggest oxymoron? High-class pub. That’s like calling Mike a real lawyer, with a degree and stuff. Only, he doesn’t have a degree and pubs don’t have class. There are rules to the universe and this place is defying them with its fake Irish music and its lacquered bar top and the general lack of cheap tap ale. Who pays eight dollars for a beer in a pub, anyway? People who have no idea what a pub is, obviously.

The place is packed full though, probably because it’s a holiday. He thinks that’s why he’d let Jenny drag him out of his apartment in the first place. She left him to chat with some girlfriends about half and hour ago, and Mike suspected by the way she told him to make friends that he shouldn’t expect to see her again tonight.

There’s a leggy blonde sitting on a stool to his right that’s been eyeing him, and he supposes she’s cute. Her face is more angular than round so it reminds him of Rachel’s. He misses Rachel. He should call her.

He’s reaching for his phone to do just that when a body slides itself between him and the blonde. Judging by the flat chest and height, Mike is pretty sure it’s a guy. He looks up just to make sure.

“You spend all your holidays getting pissed on alcohol you can’t afford?” Harvey asks, one of his eyebrows raised, looking stupidly perfect with his slicked hair and his designer clothes and his face. And, hey, when did Harvey get here?

“When did you get here?”

Harvey’s brow furrows and if Mike weren’t so preoccupied with keeping the ground steady with his feet, he’d reach up and smooth out the wrinkle with his fingertip. He’s been wanting to do that for a long time. He searches out the bartender and catches her attention with a wave of his hand.

“He’s had enough,” Harvey tells her when she comes over, and Mike could hit him, but he can’t lift his hands off the bar cause they’re too heavy. “What’s this all about anyway?”

It takes a second for Mike to realize the last question was directed at him. “S’what most people do on St. Patrick’s Day, right? Get wasted?”

“Oh, of course. Naturally this is about partaking in tradition, and it has nothing to do with a certain friend of yours.”

“A certain friend that you sent away,” he reminds Harvey.

“I was doing you a favor.”

Mike looks up at Harvey again. The man is seriously annoying. Even when Mike’s sober it’s difficult to be around him. Everything has to be just right. Well, Mike’s sick of always having to cover his tracks.

“Yeah?” Mike says, “Well, do me another favor there, Mr. Specter, and find me a guy to fuck tonight. I’m not really in the mood for entertaining women and it’s your fault my plan B is gone.”

He thinks Harvey’s eyes might narrow at that, but he can’t tell for sure. Then, suddenly he’s got an eyeful of black cotton button-down and a nose full of Harvey’s cologne. He flails a little when an arm wraps around his back.

“What the hell, man!”

“You need to go home, Mike,” Harvey says, like that’s any explanation for why he’s trying to manhandle Mike to his feet.

“Fuck you, dude. You don’t get to tell me what to do all the damn time. I’m not actually you’re fucking puppy.”

Harvey doesn’t let go though, and when he speaks again, it’s right up against Mike’s ear. “Not trying to be an asshole here, but I will throw you over my shoulder. Now stand up, Michael.”

It’s the name that does it. Almost ten whole weeks and Harvey has never said his full given name. Mike almost feels sad that he’s drunk the first time it happens, is sad that he’ll probably forget it the next morning. But he’s also grateful for the cover because he isn’t sure he’d have been able to stave off the full-body shiver that runs through him even sober. He stands up immediately, surprised when Harvey secures an arm around his shoulders and starts walking him out of the pub.

When Mike falls, he falls fast and hard and for all the wrong people.

This is the first time he knows he’s setting himself up to get hurt.

\--

**Blue – Harvey’s favorite color (and not-so-coincidentally the color of Mike’s eyes).**

There are many reasons Harvey wishes Mike’s parents were still alive. Most of them aren’t selfish. He knows Mike misses them, even after so many years being without them—maybe especially so. The sting may not be there anymore, the pang of guilt from all the things left unsaid, the sharp twisting in his gut. He’s pretty familiar with that feeling himself, knows it can’t be too far from what he feels when he thinks about his own family and how seldom he gets to see them. But he can tell it still gets to Mike sometimes, stops him in his tracks like a bullet, sudden and impossibly painful.

He doesn’t like it when Mike’s eyes go all distant and haunted when he hears Rachel talk about visiting her mom, or when Harvey mentions getting a call from his father. Harvey’s relationship with his dad is pretty professional—not at all what Mike’s would have been with his—but it’s still something and Harvey just feels like an asshole for bringing it up.

There are some selfish reasons though. He finds himself wanting to meet Mike’s mom when Mike talks about how she would sing to him when he was sick, a soft  
medley of lullabies because she could never remember all the words to just one. Mike hums a few lines of Frere Jacques while he thinks Harvey can’t hear him and Harvey’s chest hurts for how much he wants to know this woman. It happens again the first time he goes with Mike to the nursing home and Marilyn accidentally calls Mike Thomas. She tells Harvey that it’s because Mike’s voice sounds so much like his father’s, and Harvey smiles despite himself.

Mostly, though, Harvey wishes he could just see them, just once. He wants to know if Mike’s mom was blonde, if his dad had a similar muscle build. He wants to know which of them had a crooked smile, the dimpled cheeks, the long eyelashes. The desire is strongest when they’re lying in bed, just before they go to sleep and he turns his head to find Mike watching him. He wants to know who is responsible for giving Mike his eyes, which are the bluest he’s ever seen.

\--

**Indigo – the first tie Harvey buys Mike (and the one that ends up wrapped around his wrists later that night).**

Mike’s skin is thin and pale where it stretches over the tendons and bones of his wrists. They feel perfect in Harvey’s hands, like they were made to fit between Harvey’s fingers, grasped, held, kept steady as Mike lets out a shaky breath against Harvey’s neck and gives in, slips easily into submission. Harvey presses careful kisses to the insides, just where he knows the arteries pump blood to Mike’s fingers, and lifts them above Mike’s head.

He doesn’t have to tell Mike to grab the headboard. Mike wraps his fingers around the metal bars and doesn’t let go when Harvey sits up. He looks amazing like this, flushed and spread out. Mike is so often worked up, jittery with too much energy. It’s rare that he gets like this, all pliant and ready and giving. There is nothing of the overanxious, eager-to-please puppy here. This is where Mike lets go, lets Harvey take from him anything Harvey could have want of. This is where Mike can feel safe, even as someone is wrapping thick silk around his wrists, taking away his ability to defend himself. This is where Mike has no need to defend himself, and Harvey feels warmth burst and spread through his chest at the thought of being able to give Mike that.

The dark silk tie is a contrast against Mike’s skin that Harvey wasn’t prepared for. It pulls tight on the joints, stretching them out and holding them together. Mike lets his arms relax, lets the tie hold them up, take his weight, and Harvey says, low and breathy, “That’s it, Mike. I’ve got you.”

Mike closes his eyes and nods, breathes out through pursed lips and tilts his head back against the pillows. It’s the last display, the final demonstration that shows Harvey that Mike is ready. Mike is willing. Mike is his.

Harvey bends to brush his lips over Mike’s throat.

\--

**Violet – the first piece of furniture they buy together (which Harvey tries to convince Mike is just a deep red, but they both know better).**

Mike wakes up late on Sunday. It’s pretty customary now. Harvey is a defensive fan of lazy Sundays, and since he found out Mike used most of his catching up on the work he put off all weekend he’d started a ruthless campaign to convert Mike to his schedule. Mike didn’t really have an issue with this. He’d needed a reason to correct his procrastination problem for a while now, and getting to spend a few extra hours in Harvey’s bed Sunday mornings turned out to be an adequate reward. Plus, the only thing better than spending Sunday mornings sleeping in was spending Sunday mornings having sex. Harvey was pretty big on morning sex apparently, not that Mike would ever complain.

So, it’s kind of a surprise when Mike wakes up to an empty bed. Harvey wakes up before him sometimes, but the two of them had seemed to come to the unspoken agreement of just lying around until the other gets up. He knows he shouldn’t feel disappointed. He’s only been sleeping over for the past few months, but still. A few months feels like a long time when you’re not sleeping in your own house, feels serious, feels like a relationship.

He’s never woken up alone like this. Not on a Sunday.

Sitting up, he shivers. He’s naked from the waist up, and he’d only thrown on a pair of Harvey’s boxers before falling asleep the night before. He reaches for some discarded sweatpants before slipping out of the bedroom.

He finds Harvey standing in the middle of his living room, turned toward the front door with a contemplative tilt of his head. His arms are crossed over his chest and he doesn’t seem to notice Mike coming to stand beside him. Mike follows Harvey’s line of vision and comes to look upon the black leather sectional couch that has been a part of Harvey’s living room since Mike’s known him.

“What are you doing,” Mike asks after a few minutes of silence.

“Deciding.”

“Deciding what?” Before he has even finished saying the words, Harvey thrusts something at his chest. Mike hadn’t even known Harvey was holding something, but when he looks down he sees a rolled up furniture catalog. When he unrolls it, he finds it was opened to full-page display of couches.

“You want a new couch? But what’s wrong with yours?” Mike quite likes Harvey’s couch, to be perfectly honest. It’s much better than Mike’s.

“I like your chairs more.” Harvey says, as if this should clear anything up.

“Oh… okay. Uhm,” Mike looks back down at the catalog, where Harvey has circled a few options in red ink. “I’m still not following. What do my chairs have to do with your couch?”

“My couch doesn’t match your chairs.” Harvey says. “Here, let me see that again.”

Mike hands him back the catalog, resigned to the fact that there are some things he’ll just never understand about Harvey Specter. It’s not like Harvey is ever one to explain his ideas or plans to anyone, especially Mike. Usually things work themselves out though and Mike can figure things out on his own. But what could Harvey possibly want with a couch that matches the chairs in Mike’s apartment? Unless Harvey wanted the chairs too, which—oh. Oh.

“Oh,” Mike breathes. Harvey has left his side now, is standing a little further behind him. He doesn’t look at Mike when Mike turns around. “Most people just ask.”

That seems to get Harvey’s attention. His eyes flick up to Mike’s. “What?”

Mike laughs. It’s really funny when he thinks about it. “Most people just ask. That’s normally how this works.”

“How what works?”

That sets Mike right back into confusion. He’s pretty sure the signs are all there, but what if he missed something? What if it’s not what he thinks at all?

“You wanting me to move in with you,” he says.

Harvey’s furrowed eyebrows don’t help with Mike’s uncertainty. He can feel his cheeks flush, right up to his ears. He’s suddenly really hot.

But then Harvey says, “I didn’t ask you?”

They stand in silence for a few more minutes and Mike shakes his head.

“Well,” Harvey scratches at his neck, “I’m sure I would have gotten around to it eventually.”

And Mike can’t not laugh at him, at all of this. He thinks about his chairs in the living room, his books filling the empty spaces in the shelves in Harvey’s office, his clothes and dishes and ties all mixed in with Harvey’s stuff. He stumbles the few feet between them to wrap his arms around Harvey’s neck. He laughs against Harvey’s lips.

When he pulls away he says, “I would have said yes, you know?”


End file.
